


Whispers Of The Wind

by AkariAikawa



Category: Sky: Children of the Light (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, amnesiac sky child, answering that question, because I said so, gameplay elements, gender neutral skykid, mute skykid, one chap for each realm, selectively mute skykid, then accidentally start anew, what happens if you leave the game for months
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkariAikawa/pseuds/AkariAikawa
Summary: 'Wake up, Child. Bring our lost stars home.'The words are brought to heart. The meaning, on the other hand, is lost.(In which everything is familiar, except it's not supposed to be.)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Whispers Of The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> i recently started over again after months of not playing, and i accidentally deleted my old account and with my BOTW muddled brain, this idea came to life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> waking up, even though they never slept.

They wake up in a circular altar, pieces of stone around them, white and unstained. It feels familiar, somehow, even though it's only been mere minutes since they came here (from where? from when?) The skies flash above them, though no rain fell around them. (How did they know about rain?)

They blink away a few stray tears, glazed eyes looking around and seeing

_(bright smiles, a black creature, wings, light, fire, laughter, white, blue, purple, the kindlings of an ember dying down, and oh so much red around it's all red red **red**  
_

_The image rests behind their eyes, omnipresent.)_

Before they could think further, their surroundings blur into a welcoming dark, thoughts fading away. Neither awake nor asleep before, yet consciousness taken away nonetheless.

As their eyes closed, one would assume the goddess statue was crying.

* * *

They dream of stars, their rise and fall, the clouds, and the words of _'Wake up, Child. Bring our lost stars home.'_

(As quickly as the dream comes, it fades, the words lost in all but meaning. Somehow, sometime ago, the words have been spoken to them before, a duty, a quest, one would assume.

The meaning is lost to them, but the final words are taken to heart.)

* * *

It takes a while more to wake up again. 

The skies still flash black and white above, showing no signs of stopping. Most of the stones still looked the same, except for the leftmost two, which looked like someone came and stacked more stones to create some sort of gate. 

(Shouldn't they be all gates?)

The thought snaps them out of their reverie for a bit, remembering to get up. (One might assume it was just a logical conclusion, but those doesn't just come out of a newborn child, do they?)

The words are on the tip of the tongue, yet nothing seems to form.

Shaky legs rise up from where they were lying, and the first thing their mind registers how _cold_ it is, how bare everything feels, though it is not the threadbare clothes or the feeling of things being _wrongwrongwrong_ , but more of a lack, not wrong, just missing.

A voice beckons them gently, the feeling of phantom hands on their back, urging them to take a step forward. 

They take a step. Two steps. And that's all it takes for them to start going faster, taking a test run around the area. The skies still rage above them, but somehow it doesn't feel as overpowered as before. They trip on a ring of stones, landing forward with a faint sound of splashing and something all over them. It does not hurt, but some part of them expectd it to be.

 _'Water,'_ A helpful voice supplies.

They shiver involuntarily, the water clinging to them, cold and slippery. They grasp on their sides, trying to cover themselves in something, but finding it bare (Was there supposed to be something?)

The wade in the water for a bit, watching their own limbs react to them and watching ripples form on the water's surface. It's calming, somewhat, even if some part of them still expects to be stinged.

 _'Go through the gate, child,'_ The voice says again, louder, this time firm and steady. The hands are back again, pushing them back up and beckoning to the only source of light that isn't the flashes of the airspace. With nothing else left to do, they step into the painting streaked in purple and orange, wary of what awaits them.

**Author's Note:**

> im making a writeblr i swear i can't keep putting my main because frankly it's a disaster.


End file.
